


Arashi's Tower

by Deonara2012



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deonara2012/pseuds/Deonara2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ohno has had ENOUGH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Tarot Card, the Tower, a definition of which can be found [here](http://www.aeclectic.net/tarot/learn/meanings/tower.shtml).

Ohno Satoshi winced as yet another shouting match broke out in the other room, accusations and recriminations flying like Cupid's arrows on Valentine’s Day. How long would this one last?

To his surprise, he found he didn't want to know. He glanced around the hotel room: he hadn't unpacked most of his clothes, and so with consummate care, he went through the room, finding everything he’d gotten out. Once he had it all packed – or most of it – he sat down at the table with his pencil and sketch pad, and began to write.

Four pages later, he stood up, packed his supplies, and then called down to the front desk for a bell hop and a cab.

The silence outside made him look out; the common room to the suite had emptied at some point.

Good. He gathered up the letter, leaving it where its addressee would most likely find it, and then moved his bags to the door. The bell hop arrived just as he finished, and the man said nothing as he loaded the bags onto his cart.

Satoshi found the lack of curiosity refreshing.

At the front desk, he turned in his key and then, without a backward glance, left the hotel and all he’d been for the last eight years.

In the cab, on the way to the airport, he called to reserve himself a ticket back to Tokyo, and then called home.

“Do you know how late it is?” his mother asked.

“Yes. I need your advice.”

Silence. “Satoshi? What did you do?”

“I didn't kill….” He swallowed and tried again. “I just resigned. I want to go… away.”

She said nothing for a while. “Where are you now?”

“On my way to the airport,” he said. “I’ll be home early in the morning.”

“I’ll have some ideas,” she said. “Are you… sure?”

He didn't hesitate. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

He hung up, turned off his phone and tucked it into his pocket, and then wrapped his arms around himself, to try to keep himself together a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, Arashi is... four.

When he got home, his mother met him at the door. “You need to sleep before anything else.”

He shook his head. “No, I have to….”

“Satoshi,” she interrupted. “They will call, you will answer questions, and we will decide where you can go and what you have to do to get there.”

He knew better than to argue.

His mother woke him at noon with lunch and a list of people who’d called. Taking his pen and the list, he crossed out the first four names, and began with the fifth. His mother noticed, but said nothing.

By evening, he’d been partially granted what he wanted, and he hung up with a sigh and sank back into the chair.

“So?” his mother asked, handing him a cup of tea.

He took it gratefully and sipped. “A years sabbatical, as soon as I get my visa, and a review of my contract when I get back. If I decide to come back,” he added, more out of defiance than anything else.

She smiled. “Dinner is ready. Come in and eat, and we’ll talk about where you can go.”

The phone in the kitchen sat on the counter, the handset neatly next to it. Satoshi didn’t bring it up – only a few people knew this number – and she said nothing, either. By the end of dinner, he’d made his decision.

The next morning, he filled out visa applications for America (preferable) and Australia, and turned them in.

He spent the next weeks totally separate from the others, interacting only when necessary. During their down times, he studied English, often with a tutor, with a focus he didn’t usually show except when drawing. If nothing else, it gave him an excuse to be where the others were not, and generally, out of hearing as well. No one asked, and though he didn’t know why they didn’t, he found he didn’t care. And if the woman he’d hired as a tutor found it odd, she said nothing to him.

Finally, the response came in the mail. They’d already decided where he’d go, specifically, and within a week, he’d left the country.

The house he’d found to rent in Colorado Springs, Colorado, in America, had everything he wanted. Large windows let in light and looked out over the mountains, and the backyard had lush grass and a fence to keep out inquiring neighbors.

He wanted – needed – anonymity.

When the doorbell rang, three days after he moved in, it startled him so badly that his pencil went flying out of his hand.

The smiling young woman at the door carried a plate of cookies. “Hi. Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Angela Meyer, I live across the street.” She turned and pointed to her house.

Still nervous, and somewhat surprised he’d understood most of what she said, he nodded a quick bow. “Ohno Sat....” No. He stopped, made himself relax, and smiled. “Satoshi Ohno. Nice to meet you.”

“These are for you.” She gave him the cookies – a nice plate, he noted, he’d have to find something to return on it – and clasped her hands in front of her. “Where did you move from?”

He relaxed a little. “Japan. Tokyo.”

She smiled. “Welcome to America, too, then. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” he said, and watched her go. Still smiling – amused to no end – he set the cookies on the counter, and grabbed one as he went to find his vanished pencil so he could finish the sketch he’d had to leave when she rang.

Two days later, he knocked on her door, standing nervously on the open street. He had to quell the urge to look behind him when she finally answered, and she smiled. “Mr. Ohno. How can I help you?”

“I need a guide,” he said, well aware that he’d begun to blush. “I just spent an hour and a half wandering around the grocery store, and… I couldn’t find anything.”

She smiled at him. “Sure. I need to go, anyway. Do you want me to drive?”

His blush deepened – he was twenty-seven, he shouldn’t be blushing like this! – and he nodded. “Please. I don’t have a car.”

“Come in, let me get my purse.”

He stood quietly just inside her door, looking at the warm interior of the house. Pictures dotted the walls, of children and a tall man (next to her) in a dark blue uniform. She laughed and he blinked, surprised he’d actually zoned out on her. “I’m sorry.”

“The children are my nieces and nephews,” she explained. "Jonathan’s my fiancé. He’s in Iraq right now, but he’ll be home in three months. Or so they say.”

“You don’t believe them?” he asked as he followed her from the house.

She shook her head. “Not really. He’s already been extended once, but as soon as he gets back, we’re going to get married.”

He smiled as he climbed in the car. “I hope it’s soon, then.”

She laughed. “Thank you. Every little bit helps.”

The excursion to the grocery store turned into dinner, too, also a new experience for him. Speaking – he could manage. Reading? Hopeless. She dropped him off in his driveway, laughing. “I know, it’s not that far to walk, but still.”

“Thank you,” he said, climbing out of the car and getting into the back for his groceries. “I appreciate the help.”

“Thank you,” she responded. “It’s nice to get my mind off myself and on someone else. I get home around four every day – don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

He bowed to her, his arms full, and turned to go into his house. She didn’t leave until the front door had closed behind him.

Ever since the end of dinner – they’d eaten first – he’d been itching for a pencil. He put the groceries away – at least, what needed to be refrigerated – and then reached for the empty sketch pad, pushing away the other sketches that littered the table, the floor, and every other flat surface in the area.

Most of them held images of his friends – former friends? He didn't know for sure – and he wasn’t even sure what would come out of the pencil this time. Still, he sat down and began to draw.

A couple of hours and seven sketches later, he set the pencil down and rubbed his head.

No. He still couldn’t get past….

The first thing he’d drawn had surprised him; the five of them, sitting around a table, used and dirty dishes littering the surface, all of them laughing.

The rest, though – each of the others at someone else’s throat, fingers of someone, he thought they might be Aiba’s, literally around Matsumoto’s throat. Not that he’d ever seen that, but so often he’d felt that’s what they wanted to do….

He had to wonder when that would all go away, when he’d get past that and could draw something else, something that wasn’t… them. Anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from home.

The first letter he got from his mother worried him. He stood out by the mail box, stunned as he read the words she’d written.

“Mr. Ohno? Are you okay?”

He jerked his head up to look at Angela. “What? Oh. Please. Satoshi. That just sounds… weird.” And weren’t they about the same age, anyway?

She smiled. “Satoshi, then. Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. Why?”

“You looked… like you’d been given bad news.”

He tore his eyes from the letter and found her face again. He’d like to draw her, if he could just get the others out of his head. “I… Not exactly,” he stammered, searching for the English words to express himself. “My… friends have been bothering my mother. She had to change her phone number. She’s thinking about moving.”

Angela tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Why would they do that?”

“I… left without telling them I was going, or where. They’re… rather upset.”

Understatement. If he ever got his hands on Ninomiya, he’d regret that threat. Unless his mother had already made him regret it. The thought made him smile.

“I hope you had a good reason?” she asked.

He snapped back to attention. He had to stop that. “I thought so,” he said. “They… were mostly the cause.”

She nodded, clearly not understanding. “Do you draw?” she asked, out of the blue.

He laughed. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I can see you, sometimes. My mother used to get like that, when she had something to work through. She wrote, but it’s the same idea. And I can tell you aren’t writing,” she added at his curious look.

“No. I can’t write any better than I speak – and I actually speak better in English. I still have to think about what I want to say.”

She laughed. “You’re better than you were before,” she said.

He bowed and tucked the letter into a pocket. “Thank you.”

When he got back inside, he took it out and read it again, teeth grinding. Then he got out his cell phone and called his mother on her new number, just to make sure she was okay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking at sketches through the someone else's eyes.

It took nearly a month before Satoshi could put the previous six behind him, and found, one afternoon, that he held a sketch of Angela. He sighed in relief, narrowed his eyes, and started another one. He could do better than that.

He did that three times, and then realized he’d reached the end of his paper. Again. Well, no matter how his fingers twitched to draw her, he couldn’t. He glanced at the clock and smiled. Maybe she’d take him back to that art supply place this evening.

She grinned at him from her open door. “I can, yes. I was going to ask you if you needed to go, soon, anyway. Let me get my purse.”

When she dropped him off at his driveway, she reached out and touched his arm. “Can I… see what you draw?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Let me clear things up a little, while you park. Come right in.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He got out of the car and went in, gathering up the pictures, separating them out into two piles. He heard her open the door, and looked up as she padded into the room. “Hi.”

He’d had a professional show of his paintings, so he shouldn't be nervous about this, right? Taking the stack he didn’t feel comfortable showing her, he set it in the kitchen drawer and shut it. His hands trembled.

She picked up a few and thumbed through them. “You’ve been busy,” she said. “These are wonderful….” She trailed off, staring at one of the sketches, and he moved to see what she looked at.

Oh. He’d missed that one. There they were, the four of them, screaming at each other, no one listening to any of the others.

“Is that you in the middle?”

“What?” He moved closer, and only now saw the lightest sketch – barely there – of himself, hands pressed over his ears. “Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

She set the picture down and looked at him. “I would have left, too, if I’d been caught in that situation. You couldn’t get out?”

“No. We were… business partners.” Sort of. “I don’t even know if they’re speaking to each other now.” He still didn’t care, and he had to look away from that faint drawing of himself, cringing in the midst of the screaming going on around him.

“And this is them – and you again.” She held out his sketch of the five of them, around the table. “This is… better.”

“I wish it had stayed that way,” he said. “But things change.”

“Satoshi. Is this me?”

He turned to look at her, and smiled. “Yes. My first try, actually. I ran out of paper before I could do you justice.”

She stared at him. “Are you kidding? That’s amazing!”

He looked away. “It’s not,” he murmured. “I can do better. I just have to get back into practice of drawing something other than them.” He gestured to the pictures of his former group mates.

She said nothing, and when he looked up, she stared down at the sketch. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Can I have this?”

He chuckled. “If you really want it.” He gently took it from her hands, wrote his name in the lower right hand corner, and gave it back.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

When she went back to looking through the stack of sketches he’d left her, he took the one she’d found and stared at it. When had he drawn himself in? Because that was just so… strange. He didn’t remember it at all.

But then, of course, he didn’t know how he knew those were Aiba’s fingers around Matsumoto’s throat, either.

“These are good,” she murmured when she’d come to the end of the stack. “You really…. You knew them well, didn’t you.”

“Yes,” he said. “We worked together for eight years.”

She nodded. “I can tell.”

When she was gone, he looked over those sketches, and tried to see what she had.

He decided he was still too close to them and put them away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting the mall. Not exactly what he's comfortable with

Satoshi did not like the mall. It made him uncomfortable, even though he knew no one knew him here; he hadn’t even told Angela about Arashi. She knew he did not like crowds, and explained that it wouldn’t be bad.

Compared to… oh, the Tokyo Dome, it wasn’t. But still. Worse, he didn’t exactly fit in that well. At least he didn’t tower over people, although most people here at least matched Aiba’s height.

“You look like a criminal,” Angela said with a laugh, and pulled his hood off. “You’ll have security on you. Relax, Satoshi. No one is going to attack you.”

“Interesting choice of words,” he mumbled, but he did try to make his shoulders ease.

It worked, until Angela let out a shriek. “Jonathan!”

Reflexively, his shoulders tensed, and then more at the glare shot his direction from the tall young man she ran to meet. Still, he had to smile at how obviously happy she was, and guessed that her fiancé had returned earlier than she'd thought, since she’d planned to go this weekend to see him home at Fort Carson.

And then she dragged Jonathan across the hall to where he stood. “Satoshi, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Satoshi Ohno, my friend from across the street.”

Out of habit, he bowed, grimaced, and then shook the soldier’s hand. “It is good to finally meet you,” he said.

“Same,” Jonathan said warily.

Angela laughed. “Neither of you need to be quite so… formal,” she said. “I thought you were coming back this weekend!”

Jonathan finally looked away from Satoshi and smiled down at Angela. “You got the weekend wrong,” he said fondly. “I don’t know why it surprised me as much as it did.”

Angela smiled. “I’m not that forgetful,” she protested, but the smile hadn’t left her face, and Satoshi had to wonder how he’d get home. “How long are you here?”

He withdrew a few steps to give them a little privacy, at least, turning his back to watch the people going by. Maybe he’d come one day and sit in some out-of-the-way place and draw (yeah, right). The people here were interesting, and….

He literally stared as a girl approached in high-heeled boots, striped stockings, shorts and a black t-shirt with a bright green fairy on it, her make-up heavy and dark, her hair five… no, six different colors. She smirked at him, silver in her lip, nose, eyebrow, and ears flashing in the lights, and then she winked and was past him.

Satoshi laughed and leaned against the wall.

A few moments later, Angela touched his arm. “Ready to go?”

He started. “Oh, you don’t have to….”

“Yes,” she interrupted, “I do. Jonathan will meet me at home.”

“Then yes,” he said, and walked with her out to her car. When he finally went to bed, the sun had just begun to color the mountains purple.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with Jonathan

His sketches became more varied; not just people, but landscapes filled his sketchbooks, and he’d added color to some. But he didn’t feel like he had any that he’d want to show, to change enough to paint, so he kept drawing. Even now, occasionally he’d find he’d drawn his band mates – the beginning of Sunrise Nippon (all of them crashed around the table), the end of Aozora Pedal – and only then realize he’d been singing.

Angela had become less available, but that didn’t matter so much – well, in some ways. He could get around now, but he missed her company. But he also understood. Most days, as soon as she got home from work, Jonathan arrived.

One night, he stuck in Sakura Sake and sang along to the karaoke version as he made dinner. Sometimes – but only sometimes, and not nearly as often as he expected – he missed that, missed the crowds, the screams, the other four. And those times, he put the music on loud enough to drown the loneliness he felt.

A knock sounded at the end of the song, and he went to answer it. Jonathan stood there, hovering between nervous and angry.

“Te Tsunagoo” started on the stereo. “Can I help you?” Satoshi asked.

“…Angela said you never hit on her.”

Satoshi stared at him. “Why would I hit her?” he asked, bewildered. He’d never even hit Sakurai, no matter how tempted he’d been.

“Not hit her, hit on….” He stopped. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Satoshi stepped back and let him in. “How is Angela?”

Jonathan shrugged and stepped inside. Satoshi led the way into the kitchen, worried now. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Satoshi found him a beer, settled him at the counter, and went back to fixing his dinner. Jonathan sat in silence, watching him. “Are you a fruit?” he finally asked.

Satoshi stared at him, completely confused. First he was supposed to have hit Angela, and now this. “Like an apple?” he asked.

Jonathan laughed. “No. Like….” He hesitated. “Do you prefer guys to girls?”

Satoshi was completely lost. “What does that have to do with hitting Angela, or being a fruit?”

Jonathan laughed again, and something in his face eased. “Not hitting her,” he corrected, “hitting on her. Making a move.” His confusion must have shown on his face. “Asking her for a date?”

That he understood. “Why would I do that?” Satoshi asked. “She loves you. You are serving your country. I… wouldn’t last five seconds against you.”

“Not everyone is so honorable,” Jonathan said.

He hid a flinch. “No. But not everyone is me.”

“That’s for sure.” Jonathan fell silent again, watching Satoshi as he worked. “Why did you come here?”

“To America? Because I wanted to get away from Japan.”

“To the Springs.”

Satoshi grinned. “It’s what came up when we stopped scrolling.”

“Pure luck, then.”

“Yes.”

This silence reminded him of times with the others, almost comfortable, when they’d called a truce (or, sometimes, he’d forced them into one). It never lasted long, but sometimes, when it happened, he’d dare to think they’d be okay again. And then someone opened their mouth and it all started again.

“Don’t leave Angela.”

Jonathan’s head bounced up. “What?”

Satoshi busied himself with his food. “It’s the only reason I can think of, why you’re here and not over there. Don’t.”

“Why do you care?”

Satoshi set the pan on a cool burner. “She’s my friend. She’s my only friend here in America. Possibly the only one I have at all, since I’ve been neglecting everyone in Japan,” he added. “But you make her happy.”

“She said you draw.”

The abrupt subject change didn’t take him as much by surprise any more. “Yes. Most times I’ve drawn her, the picture felt… incomplete.” Not that he expected Jonathan to understand that, but…. He narrowed his eyes, watching the other man. “Just a minute.” He went to turn the music down, and returned with his sketch pad. Quickly, he sketched Jonathan next to an unfinished sketch of Angela, added lines to her part of it, and smiled. “See?” He held it up. “I thought I just couldn’t draw her – I’ve been trying for a couple of months – but it wasn’t me. She just wasn’t complete without you here.”

Jonathan looked skeptical. “You can see that?”

Satoshi grinned. “I see a lot I don’t understand until I’ve drawn it.” He flipped the pages in his drawing pad. “I don’t know if you can see it,” he said. “I drew this before you came home.”

Jonathan looked at the sketch, then gently took the sketch pad and flipped between the two pictures. “Okay,” he said. “I see. Did you ever draw yourself?”

“With her? No. I don’t belong.”

“She’s lucky.”

Satoshi smiled. “Yes. To have found someone who completes her like you do, that’s… well, low odds, I’m sure.”

“And to have a friend like you.”

Satoshi bowed. “Thank you.”

Jonathan finished his beer. “I’ll go, so you can eat. Thank you,” he added at the door. Satoshi watched him go, then shook his head and went to eat his dinner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A barbeque and a new friend. These people are so weird....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. « » means Japanese is spoken in this section. I can't remember if I'm consistent through the story.

Satoshi didn’t expect the invitation to the barbeque, and stared at it, completely confused. Americans were so… odd. But he could manage this. Hopefully.

He called to ask what RSVP meant – he didn’t know that – and then, when he said he could come, she asked him to bring something. He blinked. “What should I bring?”

She laughed. “Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” he said, and hung up, still confused.

He finally decided on sukiyaki – who knew if it actually worked, but he knew he could make it and make it decently – and so arrived on her doorstep at the appointed time. She let him in with a grin. “No, don’t take your shoes off, we’re out back,” she said when he hesitated.

“Okay….” He seemed to get a lot of mileage from that word, but followed her through the house to the backyard.

The sheer number of people made him hesitate, but he finally stepped into the yard, surrendering his bowl to Angela. He could do this, sure. He’d survived worse meetings – maybe – if not in a foreign language.

“Satoshi,” Jonathan said with a grin, extending a hand. Satoshi shook it, startled at the dead silence that followed his name. Oh, not good. He hadn’t heard that much silence after his name since Arashi had started. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

The conversations resumed as he followed Jonathan through the men – all taller and bigger than he – to one who sat at the edge of the porch, holding a soda instead of the beers most of the men seemed to be holding. “David, this is Satoshi.”

The man turned and smiled. «It is nice to meet you.»

Satoshi stared. «You… speak Japanese?»

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Jonathan said with a grin. “Have fun.”

“Thanks!” David said, and then gestured for Satoshi to sit next to him. «It’s been a while, but yes. I’m afraid I’m a little rusty.»

Satoshi smiled. «Yes. Me, too.»

Others came by, to speak and interrupted their conversation, but for the most part, the two of them spoke almost entirely in Japanese. David – who’s surname was Epperson – had spent two years in Japan on a Christian mission, which explained his command of the language.

At the end of the evening, when Satoshi collected his bowl, he found not only was it all gone, but quite a few people thanked him, and he even remembered most of their names. He couldn’t write them, no, but he did know them.

And he had a new friend. It made him smile.

The event kept him occupied for a few days, as well, drawing what he’d seen, and that didn’t bother him in the least.

However, a few weeks later, David called him up and surprised him completely. «We’d like to hold Jonathan's» “bachelor party” «at your house.»

Satoshi stared at the phone. «His what?»

David laughed. «Are you busy? I’ll come over and try to explain it.»

They sat across from each other, and David explained what he meant. Half way through the description, Satoshi laughed. «Oh! Yes, that’s fine.» He didn’t ask why; he figured the proximity to Angela’s house told most of the story.

The men – all of them in the military – were surprised when he turned down the alcohol. Satoshi merely grinned. “I am a sad drunk,” he said in explanation, when Jonathan demanded one. “And my English skills go right out the window. Unless you want me crying and muttering in Japanese, I think I’ll stick to water.”

Jonathan laughed.

An hour later, David followed him into the kitchen, the two of them sober in a house of drunk soldiers, to replenish their drinks.

«Americans are strange,» Satoshi opined, leaning against the kitchen counter.

«Agreed, » David said.

Neither of them wanted to go back in, so they remained in the kitchen, talking quietly. Satoshi kept an ear out for anything breaking – not that he had a lot, but still – but then the TV went on and the noise level dropped a little. He relaxed as they channel surfed – someone mentioned finding something racy, whatever that meant – and then they stopped.

Familiar music – familiar as his own heartbeat – filled the house, and mocking began. Satoshi stopped speaking mid-word, staring at David as his own voice – who had chosen to broadcast one of their live concerts? – began Top Secret.

«Satoshi?»

He snapped back to attention, still disoriented. «I’m sorry. What was I saying?»

They hadn’t changed the channel, and their words began to slow down, and then the music stopped. They’d paused it? Why would they do that?

“Satoshi?” Jonathan called.

Taking a deep breath, he walked into the other room. “Yes?”

“Is that your brother?” Jonathan gestured at the screen – a fair shot of him, actually.

“No. My parents have no other children.”

Jonathan glanced between them. “He looks a lot like you.”

Satoshi smiled. “That looks like it was Taipei, mid-2007. We were glad to be there. Two sold-out shows.”

“That’s you?”

“Who’s we?”

The questions came thick and fast, but they all finally stopped, each of the mostly-drunk (his saving grace, hopefully they’d forget when they were sober – but for David) men staring at him. “Yes. That’s me. I was with a group called Arashi.” One quick glance, and he knew David hadn’t been completely clueless while in Japan. “ We are… taking a break.”

They stared at him, dumbfounded. He smiled back at them. “If you really want something to laugh about, wait until my solo is over.” He reached out to push play on the remote, and retreated back to the kitchen.

«You were in Arashi?» David asked, sitting back down at the counter.

«Yes.» He’d said was – as if that part of his life were actually over. «I still am, I guess.»

«I don’t remember an Ohno Satoshi, and considering that one of the girls we met with loved you guys….»

Satoshi smiled. «They usually called me Captain or Leader,» he explained, and David nodded.

Laughter and disbelieving shouts heralded the bright pink suits, and Satoshi had to laugh himself.

They left later, most of them drunk enough that they could barely walk. Satoshi walked Jonathan over to Angela’s, staggering himself because the other man was so much heavier and taller than he was. When he returned, David had a carload and stood by the driver’s door, waiting for him. “I called some people,” he said. “The rest will have rides.”

“Thank you.”

Most of those left lounged around the living room (they’d changed the channel to a football game, to his profound relief); some of them stood in the kitchen, piecing on the pizza remains. He spoke with them – Steve, Eric, Richard (“call me Rick”) and Mike – until their rides showed up. He enjoyed himself – something of a surprise – listening to their experiences together, noting the friendship they’d formed, and he hoped, as the first of the rides showed up, that nothing destroyed them.

Richard – Rick – one of the last to go, focused on him blearily. “If you need us for anything,” he said seriously, “you just ask. Got it?”

Satoshi, startled, nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and wondered, as Rick and Eric staggered out, looking more coordinated than Jonathan had, what he’d done to merit such an offer.

By the time he went to bed, the sun had been up for two hours – and he still had to clean the house.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding, and uninvited guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> « » means Japanese in this part, too.

Satoshi had never seen an American wedding, and nervously called David when he got the invitation, quizzing him to death just to understand what he should do, bring, and wear. He left his gift – a painted picture of the two of them (yes, he’d finally gotten his paints out) – at the table as instructed, found a seat, and relaxed.

The wedding and reception took place in a church not too far from his home – close enough, in fact, that he walked. David offered him a ride home, and then so did Rick, Eric, Steve, and Mike. They each did their best to make him comfortable, too, during the reception, and he learned more about these men – more about America, and the love for her that the men who served her had – than he ever expected. None of them drank much, truly keeping him company, and he appreciated it.

But finally, he wanted to go home, fingers twitching to hold a pencil, and he asked David for a ride.

They pulled up in front of Satoshi’s home; he glanced through his front windows as he got out, and froze.

«Satoshi?» David asked.

«Someone is in my home.» Not just anyone, either, he realized when Matsumoto stepped close enough to the window for Satoshi to recognize him.

«Do you want me to call the police?» David had his cell phone in hand, poised to dial.

Satoshi stopped, seriously considering it, noting that at least four people moved around his dining room/studio. «No. They are idiots, but not criminals.»

«You know them.» He put his phone away.

Satoshi sat back down in the car. «Oh, yes. Old friends. The rest of Arashi.»

David looked at him a moment. «Close the door. I have an idea.»

Satoshi did so, and listened as David explained what he had in mind on the way back. He agreed to the plan by the time they’d returned to the reception.

He waited in the car while David went in, growing angrier by the minute about the four wandering around his house. He thought he’d locked his door – but that gave them no excuse, if he hadn’t.

«You’re shaking,» David said quietly, and Satoshi started and looked over at him, not even sure when he’d gotten back in the car. «The others are planning strategy. I’m going to interpret, because I don’t think you really want to deal with English.»

«No. Thank you.»

They pulled into Angela’s driveway, and the other four got out. David stopped Satoshi from doing the same. «They’re standing at the window,» he repeated the garbled report from Rick, and then nodded at a question. «Is the back door locked?»

«Probably,» Satoshi said, and handed over his keys.

Through his open car window, Satoshi heard murmurs from the men helping him, and had he not been so furious, he might have laughed at their description. It took a little deduction to figure out who they meant, but Ninomiya had to be the “kid”, and Matsumoto the “long-haired one”, which meant, probably, that Sakurai was “pretty” and Aiba was “tall”.

And then their talk ended and they… vanished, across the street, up his drive, and over the fence into the backyard.

«Let’s go,» Daniel said, and Satoshi got out and followed him across the street. They paused at the foot of the driveway, then something flashed through the window, and David led him into the house – he had left the front door open. “All clear?”

“Clear!” four voices called back, and Satoshi took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

He noticed, first, that nothing appeared out of place. And then he had to swallow a slightly hysterical laugh at the other four.

Mike had Ninomiya pinned to the wall, right arm twisted up behind him, Mike’s forearm across his shoulders to keep him in place. Steve had Matsumoto pinned to the floor, one arm twisted behind him, a splayed hand between his shoulder blades.

Aiba, held still by Rick, caught sight of Satoshi and started to say something, but Rick tightened the arm around his throat. “Don’t speak,” the American said in a soft, low voice. “It would be a bad idea.”

David translated, drawing all eyes to him – and then to Satoshi, next to him. Sakurai struggled, briefly, against Eric’s hold, and then subsided, looking furious.

Satoshi paused, gathering himself together. «When they let you go, » he said, his anger clear, «you sit on the couch, and you don’t say a word. Understood?» He held their gazes a little longer, then glanced at David and nodded.

“Okay. Let ‘em go.”

Aiba, at least, did what he’d asked, looking worried. The others, on the other hand….

«Matsumoto!» Satoshi snapped, ending the younger man’s tirade before he could even begin. «Sit down and shut up!»

Sakurai and Ninomiya started and stared at him in disbelief. Matsumoto didn’t move.

«Or do I need to have them restrain you? I though you might want some privacy, since David-kun can understand, and I don’t care if he tells his soldier friends everything I say.»

Looking mutinous, Matsumoto sat next to Aiba. Sakurai sat next to him. Ninomiya hesitated. Satoshi fixed him with a glare. «They know you,» he said evenly. «Imagine what they could say on the Internet. And it’d get back to Japan in no time.»

If possible – Satoshi wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it – Ninomiya looked even more mutinous than Matsumoto had, but he sat down next to Sakurai. Satoshi nodded, and then turned to David and his friends and bowed. «Thank you for your assistance.» He still didn’t trust himself with English.

David smiled. «I want an explanation.» He indicated the table, pointing out Satoshi’s keys.

Satoshi nodded. «I’ll call you. Thanks again.»


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohno has to face his past life.

When they had gone – truly gone, their cars no longer in Angela’s driveway – he turned to face the four men who had once been his best friends.

“This is my house,” he started – because it was just easiest to start there. “You had no right to just walk in.”

“Lea….” Sakurai started.

“Do not talk!” he snapped. “You four had months of things to say. You can take a few minutes to listen to what I have to say.”

Only now that they sat before him, he couldn’t think of what he’d wanted to say, had imagined saying, and he sighed and turned back to the window. “On second thought, just go,” he murmured. “I’m happy here. I don’t want to go back. I don’t have to yet.” He stared out the window at the mountains he never tired of looking at.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he flinched from it, turning to look at Sakurai. “You don’t mean that,” the other man said.

“Why not? Why can you say the most horrid things and mean them, and I’m not allowed an opinion? I like it here! I have friends that don’t try to take each other apart. It took me a month to recover from you. I’m not going back to that. I won’t.”

“And if it’s changed?” Aiba asked softly.

“Has it? Really?” he demanded, even though Aiba did not really deserve that tone. “Matsumoto and Ninomiya haven’t so much as glanced at each other. Or at anyone else. So that hasn’t changed. Why should I believe anything else has?”

Silence followed his words, then Aiba shifted uncomfortably. “Oh.”

“You have to come back,” Ninomiya said woodenly.

Satoshi surprised himself by laughing. “And that’s oh, so tempting! Why? What’s in it for me?”

They all stared at him.

“In it… for… you?” Matsumoto repeated, sounding stunned.

“Yes. In it for me. Why should I leave this place – this view – these friends? Do you even understand that I’m happy here? Do you even care?” He shook his head and turned away. “And now I sound like you guys. I don’t want to sound like you.” He sighed. “Just go.” He folded his arms and drank in the view – because even though he wouldn’t go now, he would when his year ended – ignoring the movement and whispers behind him.

“We really do want you to come back,” Matsumoto said, standing next to him. He sounded more agreeable than the last time Satoshi had heard any words from him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because we are not Arashi without you.”

He didn’t look at the taller man. “Perhaps Arashi should be over.”

The movements behind him stilled, and he could feel three pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head.

“You love it as much as we do,” Matsumoto said, and Satoshi heard an edge of desperation in his voice.

“I did,” he agreed. “But I cannot live like that any more. I won’t.” He should have let David call the police. It would have been over quicker.

Matsumoto laid a hand on his shoulder, and this time, he didn’t flinch. “I know. I’m sorry you had to at all,” he said, and moved away from the window.

Satoshi hated it that he wondered if it had all been an act.

“Are you going to come back?” Aiba asked from behind him, closer – he must have gotten off the couch.

“I have to,” he said. “Johnny’s only gave me a year off. I’ve got another six months.”

“So… if we leave you alone….” He trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Satoshi said, still staring out the window. “Maybe. But it depends on what it’s like after that.”

“You think it’ll be the same,” Ninomiya muttered.

“I’m afraid it will,” Satoshi corrected him. “And I’m not willing to deal with it again.”

“Will you try?” Sakurai asked.

He hesitated. “Yes.” It surprised him, how much he still wanted this to work out, and it made the next decision easy. He turned to face them, expression composed. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Yes,” Matsumoto said.

Satoshi nodded. “Then dinner here?” He’d give them a chance to prove him wrong – or right.

He enjoyed the evening, much to his surprise; what he had in the house limited their choices, but they all cheerfully (or seemingly so) pitched in to help. Easy banter flew back and forth, and for a while, he could believe things would work out.

Only he didn’t dare believe it, because this had happened before, and as soon as the shouting started, he’d kick them out and they could figure out how to get where they needed to on their own.

He looked up, glancing around at them, and met Aiba’s eyes. The other man watched him, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed just a little. Satoshi smiled at him; Aiba smiled back and broke eye contact, looking at Sakurai when he spoke to him.

The next time Satoshi looked up, he caught Aiba watching him again.

Aside from that, nothing happened, and after dinner, they settled in the living room, talking together, as Satoshi began the dishes. He wondered, vaguely, if they’d come at him one at a time again.

“You’re very domestic,” Matsumoto said from the doorway.

Satoshi looked up from the suds-filled sink. “It became necessary,” he agreed, and went back to washing the dishes.

“Why don’t you use the dishwasher?”

“No reason to. I’m the only one here, and it’s generally easier to just wash dishes. Besides, I have a lot of time, and I don’t mind.”

A chair scraped the floor, and Satoshi heard Matsumoto settle into it. “What have you been doing with all that time?”

“Drawing. Some painting, but mostly sketches.”

“Of what?”

“You guys. The mountains. Angela and Jonathan. David and the four guys you… met, rather abruptly.”

“That was… well, you got our attention.”

“Good.”

“You’re not singing?” Matsumoto asked, and Satoshi stilled, eyes closed. Why should it come back to that? Why did that matter, anyway?

“Some,” he said after a moment, going back to the dishes. “But not a lot.”

Then, after a long silence, “Dance?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t… feel like it.” He shrugged.

Matsumoto fell silent again. Satoshi finished the dishes and began to dry them, methodically and efficiently.

He set a plate down and turned to get the next one when long fingers wrapped around his wrist. Matsumoto tugged him the other direction and he turned, surprised at how close the younger man had gotten, looking up reflexively. Matsumoto’s other arm wrapped around his waist, his hand resting on Satoshi's lower back, and then he kissed Satoshi, a gentle, lingering kiss that demanded nothing more than participation.

When the younger man let him go, he stared straight ahead, unable to think, mind blank. Matsumoto moved, one hand reaching up to touch him. “Oh-chan,” he said gently, and Satoshi gasped in a breath, abandoned dignity and the dishes, and fled. He ran past the other three in the living room and down the hall to his bedroom, where he shut the door and leaned against it, braced in case anyone tried to follow him.

He barely heard the commotion outside his door, stunned at how vulnerable he felt – certainly he’d gotten over that! “Baka!” Ninomiya’s voice cut through the babble. “He’s not a toy!”

“Nino!” Sakurai snapped.

Silence.

“MatsuJun,” Aiba said warily.

“We’ll discuss the irony of that statement later,” Matsumoto said. “Did any of you even notice?”

More silence.

“He’s not okay,” Aiba said after a moment.

“What do you mean, he’s not okay?” Ninomiya snapped.

“I didn’t notice either,” Matsumoto said. “Not at first. But think. He’s lost weight. He’s pale. He barely said anything to any of us all night.”

“He should have been screaming at us,” Sakurai agreed.

“He’s not an actor,” Ninomiya said slowly.

“No,” Matsumoto agreed. “I think he’s got himself so convinced that he’s fine, he’d fool everyone but us and his mother.”

“It was a near thing with us,” Sakurai opined.

“Yes. What did you do?” Aiba asked.

“I kissed him,” Matsumoto said, “and he fell apart.”

“You kissed him?” Sakurai demanded. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to make sure. What would you do if I just suddenly kissed you?”

“Probably slap you. Or…” Sakurai trailed off. “And he fell apart?”

“He hasn’t spaced out on us once,” Aiba said suddenly. “He’s not like that.”

“So, what do we do?” Ninomiya asked.

“I don’t know,” Sakurai said, frustrated. “Can we do something?”

“I don’t think so,” Matsumoto said quietly. “I think… we’ve probably done enough.”

“Probably.”

“And he’s probably heard everything we’ve said,” Aiba added. “The door is right there.”

Silence, then someone knocked on the door. “Ohno?” Matsumoto, more formal. “Are you okay?”

He barely registered the question. “Um. Yes. No.” Please, just go, he thought frantically. Just go. Stay out of my life.

He could hear them talking, quietly – arguing, without raising their voices – but eventually, they reached a decision.

“Thanks for dinner,” Sakurai said, sounding like he’d stepped closer to the door. “We’ll let ourselves out.”

Arms wrapped around himself, Satoshi listened as they left, talking quietly, although he couldn’t hear their words.

He’d never been more thankful.

He waited until he couldn’t hear anything, and then waited some more before he pushed away from the door, and opened it. No sound, no familiar faces greeted him, and he ventured farther, to find they had actually gone. He went into the kitchen, looked at the dishes, then grabbed his wallet, went to get his shoes on, and started toward the nearest liquor store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before I knew Ohno did act, so forgive the mess up there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satoshi tries to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be the first to admit I know nothing of what happens when someone gets drunk, etc., so if it's wrong... I'm sorry. A friend tried to help me, but I'm sometimes just hopeless. Also. Timing is RUSHED. Sorry.
> 
> Again, « » indicates Japanese spoken between a native and a non-native speaker.

Something woke him up, and he groped for the noise to try to get it to stop. Finally, he found it, discovered his cell phone in his hand, and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Satoshi.” His mother sounded upset. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again. It took him a minute before he answered. “I don’t know, and I think that’s what I wanted.”

“I suggest you get yourself sober again. I had a… very interesting visitor this morning.”

“A who?”

“Drink some water, get yourself to bed, and call me back when you’re thinking right.”

He started to answer, but she’d hung up on him, so he hung up and tried to make his eyes work.

He sat in his living room, bottles of various things – mostly empty – strewn across the floor in front of him. He stared at them, and then decided to follow his mother’s advice. Once he got to his feet – not the easiest thing he’d done recently – he managed to get into the kitchen without falling. Grabbing a glass from the drainer, he filled it and drank twice before staggering back to the bed room with it. He barely managed to set it down before collapsing on his bed and passing out again.

The next time he woke up, he pushed himself off the bed and stumbled frantically for the bathroom. He barely made it before emptying his stomach. It took all his self control to go back to his room, get the glass, and return to the bathroom to fill it and drink, instead of collapsing back on his bed immediately. This time, however, he lay down gently, as his head pounded ferociously, and willed himself back to sleep.

He made one more trip to the bathroom – not to throw up, at least – and downed another glass of water, before he woke with a clear (if somewhat sore, but not pounding) head and a stomach demanding food.

So he took care of that first, searching out the blandest crackers he could find. Anything else would have made him lose it again, and he really didn’t care to. The crackers didn’t fill him up, exactly – he never had many, and he hadn’t expected them to – but they took the edge off his hunger, enough that he could think on other things. Like cleaning himself up. And then the house.

He stood under the hot water as long as it held out, and then dressed in clean clothes and went to pick up the living room. When he’d finished, he walked into the kitchen – and then turned around and walked right back out.

At least the misery of sobering himself up had kept his mind off what had happened, but that couldn’t distract him now.

Of all the stupid things, why did that kiss stay on his mind? Matsumoto had said it hadn’t meant anything….

The phone rang and he grabbed for it desperately. “Hello?”

«Satoshi! Are you okay? We’ve been trying to get in touch with you.» David.

«I’m… better, I think. I’m sorry. What day is it?»

David said nothing for a while. «The wedding was three days ago. Did your friends leave?»

«I hope so.» He winced at his tone.

Silence again. «Where were you?» More cautious, worried. He could almost picture Sakurai asking that same question… wait. Why did he even come into this?

«Here,» Satoshi admitted, struggling to push away the image of his friend. «Either drunk or passed out.»

«I’ll be there in half an hour.»

Satoshi started at the dial tone. Why did people insist on hanging up on him?

Speaking of…. He went looking for his cell phone and called his mother back. “I’m sorry,” he said when she answered.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Well, no. But he was sober.

“I had a very interesting visitor the other day.”

“Oh?” So help me, if Ninomiya went over and threatened her again....

“Yes. MatsuJun stopped by.”

Satoshi forgot to breathe. “Why?” he croaked.

“He asked me to ask you if he could have your phone number. Did something happen?”

“Why?”

“I think I know your friends pretty well, and he was… very different. Deferential. That is not a word I usually think of to describe him.”

“No.”

“Did something happen?”

He closed his eyes, and he could feel the fingers gentle on his wrist, the hand on the small of his back…. He wrenched his eyes open. “No. Tell him no.”

“Satoshi?”

He tried to calm down, not understanding why he’d suddenly panicked. “Please. No.”

“Something did happen. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know any more.” Their words – he’s not okay – echoed in his head, and he shook it to clear it.

She fell silent a moment. “Sato-kun, you’re scaring me.”

The familiar nickname – something he hadn’t heard often since… oh, before Arashi, at least – helped him calm down a little. “I’m scaring me. I don’t… it’s…. No. I can’t talk to him. Any of them.”

“Okay,” she said gently, trying to soothe him. “And if he asks for your address?”

“Yes. I guess.” His mind whirled, the conversation he’d overheard spinning in his head again. “I have to go.” He hung up and dropped his phone.

He huddled on the couch, feeling like if he moved, he’d fly apart into a million pieces. Eventually, he’d have to, when David came, but until then, he stared out the window, focused on not seeing, on not thinking.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of it, and he stared up a David. «You okay?» the American asked, looking worried.

It took time to process, even though he’d spoken in Japanese. «I guess that depends on your definition of okay, but I’m pretty sure the answer is no.»

«I didn’t think so,» David said. «Anything I can do to help?»

«Distract me.»

David raised one eyebrow. «Okay. Care to explain the comment ‘they know you’ to the kid?»

Satoshi looked at him, confused, then remembered who he meant. «That ‘kid’ is Ninomiya Kazunari. I remember Mike raving about his character in “Letters from Iwo Jima”,» he added at David’s confused look.

David stared at him. “That… he… Oh. Mike is going to die!” he said in English. “That’s not exactly how he envisioned meeting him.”

“Probably not. But I don’t think he knew I knew Ninomiya.” He welcomed the change in language – a distraction in itself, even considering the topic.

David laughed. “I can’t wait to tell him.” He grinned to himself, and then sobered. “You need to eat, if you’re anything like a few of my friends. Come on.”

Going into the kitchen with David helped, and the longer they sat there, sharing the now-cool pizza, the more normal Satoshi felt, and the less he felt Matsumoto in the room. When they finished eating, he put the last of the dishes away, and then the kitchen looked… well, not like when they’d been there.

And not like he’d abandoned everything in a mad dash to escape.

He shuddered and turned to David. “Can you take me somewhere?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

Satoshi took a deep breath. “A few art supplies.”

David smiled. “Let’s go.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the descent contiues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, more of my complete ignorance of the Japanese culture comes out, I'm sure. « » means Japanese spoken between a native and non-native speaker.

The phone conversation with his mother started normally, which he’d expected. But then it took a left turn into weird. Not so much the conversation, actually….

“MatsuJun stopped by again today.”

He fought down panic just at the thought of that particular… person, incident, both. “Oh?”

“He was disappointed when I told him you didn’t want him to have your number. But very gracious.”

Satoshi had to fight to breathe. Why was this so hard to deal with? “He can be, yes.”

“It didn’t seem false, like an act, either, although that’s how he comes off most of the time,” she went on, oblivious to her son’s distress. “He seemed to really care.”

He swallowed. “I… um. I have to go.” He hung up before she could respond, but he hadn’t done it soon enough. He couldn’t stop shaking, and didn’t know why he couldn’t – or even why he’d started.

It couldn’t possibly go back to that kiss! It hadn’t meant anything! He’d said as much.

It had felt like it did, though. He’d felt… wanted – but why? Because he wanted to, so badly? Because Matsumoto could act that well?

He’d been doing fine until they showed up. So what if he hadn’t sung much? So what if he hadn’t thought out a single step of choreography? Why did that matter?

He took a shuddering breath and tried to think of something else. Anything else.

But the ‘anything else’ wasn’t any better, remembering the shouting matches that he’d overheard, been in the middle of without adding to the noise. He still didn’t understand why they’d all been at each other like that, had never figured out if there had been two camps or three or four, since alliances changed minute to minute….

“Stop,” he moaned, hands over his ears in a vain attempt to quiet the noise in his head.

It didn’t help. He didn’t know what could, but he felt he would go insane, listening to them, his mind going over and over back to that kiss….

And then, instead of Jun, Nino kissed him, and his heart broke all over again. This time, though, nothing distracted him from the pain, which hadn’t faded for all the time that had passed, and he had no reason to act as though nothing had happened.

Now he remembered the looks from the others that he’d ignored and avoided, burying himself in his work and his art to hide from them, and when he’d emerged enough to notice what went on around him, they’d been at each other’s throats, and he’d been completely lost.

He took a shuddering breath and wiped at his face – wait, tears?

He didn’t want to think about that, any of it, but he couldn’t stop so he got to his feet and moved restlessly around the house, barely touching something, some project, before moving on. He turned the stereo on and then off before three notes had finished playing. He opened the fridge and closed it before he saw what he had, feeling eyes on him. But when he turned around, of course, he’d imagined it. He didn’t even know who the gaze belonged to, but that didn’t stop him from leaving the kitchen nearly at a run.

Finally, he went to the front door, put his shoes on, and left the house, only to stand on the front porch and stare, surprised, at the falling snow. It didn’t stick, melting as soon as it touched the ground, but it gave him the distraction he had desperately looked for.

He stayed there until the chill forced him back in.

But he didn’t get past the entryway, not willing to face the house without some goal in mind, and nothing came. He finally grabbed his coat and went for a walk.

The house felt… tainted, he decided as he stared at the sidewalk he traversed, unmindful of the snow collecting and melting in his hair. As if their being inside had ruined everything. For two blocks, he considered moving, but eventually decided against it.

How to cleanse the house, though?

The answer came when he arrived back at his front door, and he went in and straight for the phone. «David? I have an idea to run past you. Can you help?»

Filling the house with five men to watch a football game turned out to be genius. Rick, Eric, Steve, and Mike filled the echoing silence with shouts, groans, and threats at the refs, while David attempted – with interjections from the others – to explain the game to Satoshi.

Satoshi never did get it. But the sheer… American-ness of them – loud, boisterous, cheerful, even in defeat – wiped away the ghosts of the quiet Japanese who had intruded less than two weeks ago.

After the game, when everyone else had left, Rick stopped across the counter from Satoshi. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, his eyes on Satoshi’s, “and if I am, tell me. But… it’s obvious you’re running from something. It won’t go away until you face it.”

Satoshi stared up at him, not entirely sure what to think.

“It might sound weird, coming from a soldier,” Rick said after a moment. “I’m not too far from graduating with a Masters in Psychology. You’re a good friend. Be careful.”

“I will try,” Satoshi said, trying to sound normal, and Rick nodded and let himself out. Satoshi started to clean up automatically.

Face it how?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satoshi gets a letter, and it sparks... something.

The letter came two days later, out of the blue. He opened it without checking the return address, and got halfway through the first paragraph before he realized that although he recognized the handwriting, his mother had not written this.

Cheerful greetings, rambles about his schedule…. Satoshi stopped reading and wondered when Matsumoto had begun channeling Aiba. He decided it didn't matter and went back to reading.

_It was good to see you_ , Matsumoto went on. _You looked a little… well, forgive me, I have seen too many movies, but pale and wan definitely described you._

Satoshi snorted softly. “Seen?” he asked the letter. “Try been in.”

_You haven’t looked well for a long time, and it’s our fault. I talked to Nino about the “toy” comment – don’t look so confused, I know you heard it… although, I suppose you weren’t in any shape to remember it. I wish I could attribute that to my skill, but I know better – and we worked things out. We’ve stopped trying to out-shout each other, and Aiba-chan and Sho-kun have started to calm down as well. It shouldn’t be so bad when you come back. Yes, we backslide some, but we’re improving._

_Let me know how you’re doing, okay? And… don’t keep running. It’ll just get worse._

_Trust me._

_Jun_

Satoshi put the letter back in the envelop and threw it down on the counter as if it burned him.

Why did they think he was running?

But these days, he didn’t know what to do with himself; he couldn’t even draw, afraid of what he might draw. Afraid.

He’d never let his fear get the better of him before, but none of his other fears had so threatened his very self. Well, okay, maybe Matsumoto had rubbed off on him, that sounded so… melodramatic. Still.

First, he’d answer the letter. And then he’d do… something. And make himself stick to it.

Answering the letter proved harder than he’d expected. He finally wrote what only a generous person would call a letter (his mother would scold him for writing a note), and got it in the mail the next day.

And then he sat down, with pencil and paper, and started to draw.

This time, he didn’t censor what he drew, which he realized he’d done that first month the first time he tried. The lines wavered on some of those pictures because his hand shook so badly, and sometimes he could barely draw because he couldn’t see – the tears always surprised him – but he kept going, forced it out, faced this thing they all insisted he needed to.

Finally, he set pencil to paper… and nothing. Either he’d finally gotten the images out, or he simply could not draw any more. Exhaustion crashed in on him, and he dropped the pencil, staggered into the bedroom, and collapsed. He slept almost instantly.

When he woke, he ached, as if he’d been dancing non-stop for ten hours the day before (sadly, yes, he knew exactly how that felt), and dragged himself off his bed and into the shower. The hot water did little for the aches, which surprised him, and when he stepped out, his stomach growled.

He didn’t know when he’d eaten last. He dressed and headed for the kitchen.

Satoshi didn’t notice the mess until he sat down, a quick bowl of ramen in front of him. And then he stared at the amount of paper that covered the table and spilled onto the chairs and floor. He regarded it, eating slowly, and then after a moment went to get the sketches he’d put in the kitchen drawer and began to sort through everything.

The ramen had disappeared, the dish set in the sink, long before he finished sorting. In the end, he had ten piles – a start.

But where to go from there?

He picked a pile at random, glancing through it before setting it aside and picking up another one. This one he moved the sketches a little, putting a couple further back and a different one on top before setting it down again.

Then he picked up the stack of pictures of Ninomiya, began to page through them, and had to sit down. There it was, laid out for anyone to see, if they could read it – he’d fallen in love. Oh… it’d happened some time ago, and he’d started to think maybe….

But as always, life had proven him wrong, shown him yet again that his wishes didn’t matter. He set them in order, through his despair, when he realized it had meant nothing to the younger man. Then, glancing over the rest, he began to look through those piles, too, finding pictures of the others that happened at the same time.

When he’d finished, a few hours later, the sun had gone down hours ago, but he’d gotten everything in order. And it finally made sense. He set the papers down, still tired from… however long he’d been drawing, and went to relax a little before going to bed. He slept almost immediately.

He had breakfast the next morning before going back to his sketches (finally back on a normal schedule). Paging through that final pile, he could see what had happened, and where those faint images – because he’d done more than the one Angela had seen – of himself had begun. He’d begun fading a long time ago.

Some of his sketches hadn’t fit in, or he didn’t know exactly where to put them, and he set them aside for now, going through the main pile a couple more times, just to make sure. But, yes. The whole story sat before his eyes, of his own making, clear and easy to see.

Great. So what?

First – he needed to get past Nino. Or over him. Or both. Although….

He paged through, looking at the later sketches, and felt a pressure in him, something he barely recognized at first. Until he found a sketch of Ninomiya and Sakurai, sitting far too close together, and nearly ripped it to pieces. He had to set the papers down and step away, hands shaking. Fury like he’d never felt – never remembered – coursed through him.

How DARE he!

Satoshi had to turn away – and then leave the room. After another moment, he went to grab his jacket, put his shoes on, and left the house, not trusting himself to stay there and not destroy something.

He started walking, winding through the streets toward the mountains, careful not to frustrate himself – that would just make it worse. A sign caught his eye, mentioning a trailhead – he actually knew what that was – so he followed the directions it gave and finally reached the beginning of a path going up into the mountains. He hesitated, but it looked smooth enough, as if he’d have no problems in his current state, and besides, he’d stopped shaking. The fury had abated, or he thought it had until Ninomiya crossed his mind again, and he started to shake.

He didn’t dare go far, but then he lost track of time, focused so much on the hike. By the time he started back, most of the fury had faded due to exhaustion. And, like an idiot, he hadn’t brought any water. Still, he kept going; by the time he reached the trailhead again, he stumbled more than he walked. Gratefully, he collapsed onto the bench near the parking area and closed his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after he wore himself out on the hike.

Someone patted his cheek. He tried to bat the hand away, but he could barely move. “Hey. Wake up. Are you okay?”

He didn’t know that voice. He forced his eyes open, trying to focus on the three figures in front of him. English. He wasn’t up to this, but he had no choice. “I… am fine,” he managed to get out.

“How did you get here?”

His head cleared a little, and he straightened, gasping at the pain of aching muscles. “I walked. I should probably….” He started to get up, and one of the young women pushed him back down and sat next to him.

“No, don’t get up,” she said, and offered him a water bottle. He took it and drank. “Is there someone you can call?”

He stared at her, lowering the water bottle. “Oh. Yes.” He got his cell phone from his pocket, and then hesitated. He’d bugged David so much lately….

“Do you want me to call?” the woman asked. Her companions had gone on, to load their bikes onto the only car there.

He smiled wearily. “I don’t think you can read my phone,” he admitted. “It’s all in… Japanese.”

Something in her eyes lit up. “You… Are you Satoshi Ohno?” she asked.

He stared at her, stunned and suddenly disoriented. “Yes.” Did she actually recognize him? From where? How?

She grinned, pleased. “Do you want me to call David for you?”

He blinked, disoriented again, and she gripped his shoulder, steadying him. “Careful. Are you okay?”

“Just… yes, sure. That would be nice.” He nodded, just in case, because he really didn’t know which language he’d just spoken in.

“Drink,” she said, and then got her own cell phone and dialed. He did as she ordered and listened. “Hey, David. You’ll never guess who we ran into at the trailhead here? Your friend Satoshi. He looks like he’s exhausted, and he can’t walk back. We don’t have room…. You will? Thanks. No, we’ll stay until you get here. Bring water. Okay. I love you, too. Bye.”

Satoshi gave her a startled look over the water bottle, and swallowed hurriedly. “You sound… close.”

She smiled. “My name is Christen Daniels. David and I got engaged last weekend.”

Satoshi nodded. He hadn’t been all that social lately, anyway. “When will you be married?”

“In January, probably. We’re not sure yet.” She smiled. “Drink more. You look like you’re going to fall asleep on me.”

“I probably would,” he admitted, and did as she suggested.

“Don’t, for a couple of minutes, okay?” she said, got up, and walked over to the car. She spoke quietly with the couple there, and then pulled her bag out of the back and returned to his side. “They’ll drop my bike off at my house, and I’ll go home with you guys,” she said. “I hope that’s okay?”

Satoshi smiled. “It’s fine.” As if he were going to deny her that.

They talked for a while – he had the feeling she wanted to keep him awake – and he learned a lot about her, and about David, and how they’d met. But by the time David arrived, Satoshi could barely keep his eyes open.

“What did you do?” David asked him as Satoshi dragged himself to his feet. The American handed him a bottle of water, and then took his elbow to steady him. “Drink.”

“I got angry,” Satoshi told him, following him to his car. Christen followed behind. “I decided I’d rather go for a walk than rip apart my house.” He took a drink as directed – and nearly finished the bottle.

David stared at him. “Rip your house apart?” he repeated, stunned.

Satoshi smiled wearily. “Yeah. It’s been building for a while.”

David nodded. “I bet you're not too angry, now.”

Satoshi shook his head. “No. Not angry at all, right now.” He sank down in the back seat, shut the door behind him, and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, David shook his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up. You’re home.”

Satoshi struggled to straighten, blinking to clear his eyes. “Oh. Thanks.” He hesitated. “Would you do me a favor?” he asked as he got out and steadied himself on the open door.

“What?”

“There are three piles of sketches on my kitchen table. Two in the middle, one face up, one face down – like I was looking through them.” Which he had. “Put them back together, like a book….” He glanced at David, who nodded. “And then put the third pile – it’s in the corner – face down on top of it.”

David nodded. “Okay.” He went in, and after thanking Christen, Satoshi followed.

Maybe he didn’t need to take those kind of precautions, but better safe than sorry. He didn’t want to get up from this nap and go into that rage again, if he could help it. By the time he got to the front door, David had returned. “Call me,” he said softly, waiting until Satoshi nodded before leaving.

Not really caring at the moment, he kicked his shoes off, dropped his jacket on the floor – remembered to at least lock the front door – and stumbled for the bedroom. He collapsed onto his bed and fell blissfully back to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are brightening up. A little.

Things changed after that. It took him a while to realize why, when he sat modeling the clay he’d bought on the last trip to get a sketch pad, his feet wouldn’t stay still. It was worse when he had music playing – which happened more often, now – when he made dinner or anything else.

But finally, he did figure it out, searched out specific CDs from his collection, and took them downstairs to the basement, along with his tennis shoes and a portable CD player. Part of it had been done in tile, and he set up there. He put his shoes on, and then carefully stretched, everything in rhythm, each movement practiced and sure, the routine as familiar as the words to “Sunrise Nippon” – and known as long.

Choosing a CD, he put it in, started it, and stood up, moving to the center of the room. As soon as the music started, so did he.

He was out of shape, and he knew it, and he didn’t care. The movements, steps, words, came easily to mind – he’d been doing some of these for eight years – and easier to his body. He’d forgotten this… euphoria, how it felt to just move, to get lost in the music. The six months before he’d left, he hadn’t been able to, too much tension crowding in around him.

When the CD ended an hour later, he collapsed not-so-gracefully to the floor, breathing hard. He wanted to crawl – yes, crawl – across the floor and put in the next one, but he knew that would be a mistake. Groaning a little, he stretched again, easing into the stretches as his body protested any movement, and then he got to his feet and walked slowly upstairs. Water. He had to remember water next time; he knew better than this. He drank down as much as he could, kicked his shoes off and left them in the middle of the kitchen with a mental note not to trip over them when he made dinner, and headed for the shower.

This time the hot water did wonders for the aches he felt – and he knew he’d feel worse tomorrow. The thought, as it usually did, brought a smile to his face. He’d forgotten how good it felt. After the shower, he dressed and went back to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Sitting at his table, he caught sight of the pile of sketches he hadn’t looked at since he’d gone off on that unplanned and stupid hike last week. Hesitantly, he reached over and moved them closer to him. He’d been avoiding this since he’d woken up from that nap, and maybe now wasn’t the best time, either, since he knew better than to go back downstairs to work out his anger that way. After a moment, he pushed the sketches back to the edge of the table. No. Still too soon.

A few days later, he got an answer to his “letter”, and his pleasure at the sight of Matsumoto’s handwriting surprised him. He opened it, read through the letter, and had to laugh.

I nearly told your mother that you only managed what… five lines? That wasn’t a letter; it was a note. And one of those lines was an apology that it was so short. I am going to hit you next time I see you if you can’t do better than that this time.

I hope things are better, Ohno. I hope you’ve faced your demons, moved past them – but not past us. I could tell you hadn’t, from this little thing. I hope my threatening the people going through our fan mail is worth it for this next letter.

“Threatening people who go through the fan mail?” Satoshi said, stunned. “Why?”

If nothing else, it gave him something to ask.

As it turned out, though, he didn’t need the question; he filled four pages of describing what he’d done the last six months – highlights, because more than that would have been impossible – and questions of what was going on, suddenly curious about things back home.

An improvement, he decided.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His secret comes out, and things start looking... up. Or at least, toward Japan.

He didn’t look at his sketches until three weeks later. During those three weeks, he built up stamina again, spending more time in the basement. He welcomed Angela and Jonathan back from their honeymoon (never mind that they’d been back nearly a month – he’d been a little… preoccupied), and had a chance to meet Christen when he wasn’t falling asleep on his feet.

When he did finally pick them up, his hands shook so badly at first that he had to put them back down again. He didn’t like feeling that angry. But he couldn’t stop now.

The rage came sooner this time, but at least he knew what to do with it. He stretched carefully, trembling not to push himself, to not do something stupid. Finally, he turned the music on, something hard and fast, and threw himself into the dance, making up steps as he went.

Once the initial fury had died down, he switched CDs and slowed down a little, his movements more controlled. He forced himself to focus, each step, each movement exact, flowing – just to keep his mind of Ninomiya and Sakurai, and off the pain in his heart.

The current CD ended with Top Secret, and he stayed in his final pose for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

“Wow.”

He straightened up sharply and turned to see Angela sitting on the stairs, eyes wide. “That was amazing.”

Satoshi stared at her. “What?”

“You’re very good,” she said. “How long did it take you to learn that?”

He sat down, still stunned, and began to cool down. “Which?”

“The last one.”

“The last one took about three weeks to choreograph,” he admitted. “I’ve known it for two years.”

“What’s it for?”

“For?” he repeated.

“Why do you know it? I mean, have you performed it, or is this something you keep secret?”

Satoshi laughed – and abruptly sobered. “I never told you,” he said, and then straightened slowly and got to his feet. “And I’m sorry, did you need something?” He gathered his towel and water bottle, and started toward the stairs.

“What? Oh! Yes,” she said, getting to her feet. “Or at least, I had something to ask. Do you have any sugar I could borrow? I ran out, and I need about a cup.”

“I do,” he said, and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. She started up, and he followed.

“And the dancing?”

He grimaced. “That…” He stopped speaking, not sure how to continue, and then laughed. “There is just no good way to tell you that the guys I draw so much are part of a vocal group in Japan, and I finally got sick of their arguing and came here to hide from them.”

She turned and stared at him, poised on the top step. “They’re what?”

He smiled. “The five of us make up a group called Arashi. It means storm.” He slipped past her and into the kitchen; she followed. “I couldn’t stay in Japan – or anywhere around there. Here, no one knows me, and I can be the crazy foreigner who likes to draw.”

She’d been staring at him, but that made her laugh. He got out his sugar, thought about measuring out a cup – and decided against it. He’d just give her the bag. “How famous are you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Very,” he finally said. “David had even heard of us.”

“On his mission?”

Satoshi nodded. “Most of what I could tell you wouldn’t make sense, and I don’t know the comparisons here.”

She just stared at him again, then shook his head. “That’s so… bizarre.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I just… wanted to ignore that part of my life.”

“I can imagine,” she said, and he remembered she’d seen the one sketch he hadn’t put away.

Well aware that what he did usually killed conversations, Satoshi handed her the bag of sugar. “Here,” he said. “You said you needed sugar?”

She started, and then smiled. “Oh! Yes, thank you.”

He saw her out, and then locked the door and went to get in the shower. If nothing else, her visit had helped him calm down.

At least, he discovered some days later when she invited him to a dinner party, she had decided not to hold it against him.

The days spun out, full of friends and solitude. He spent time with David and Christen, with Angela and Jonathan, and with Rick, Eric, Mike, and Steve. He took time to draw those memories, to use them whenever he could.

In between, his lifeline to Japan grew thicker; between his mother (who told him that Nino had come to apologize, and had Sho with him, which Satoshi had finally accepted), and Jun (who managed to come across as smug and self satisfied even in how he wrote his characters), he could feel a yearning to go home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Japan, and the first reunion.

Angela threw a small going away party before he left, and the warmth of his friends carried him almost all the way back to Japan. He only told his mother the flight information; he hadn’t even mentioned, in his last letter to Jun, that he’d be coming home.

But people were ready to speak to him when he called Johnny’s, and so three days after his arrival in Japan, Satoshi went in to talk about his future. It went… better than he’d expected, and he agreed to a two month probation, on both sides, before the man let him go.

He stood outside the main office in the hallway, at a loss now, when someone called his name. He turned to see Arashi’s manager, grinning at him. “So you’re back,” he said, coming to a stop by Satoshi. “Everything worked out?”

Satoshi nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled. “They’re here, you know.”

“Why?” It came out before he could stop it.

“They had a few things to work out, as well, and there’s an interview later this afternoon. They aren’t expecting you, although they probably won’t mind if you go.”

He hesitated. “Where are they?”

The man’s smile grew, and he gave Satoshi very exact directions before he walked off.

It took a moment to decide, but Satoshi followed them, wary. MatsuJun had written that relations within the group had improved, but… well, sometimes he just didn’t know if he could trust the younger man.

Loud voices spilled into the brightly-lit hallway, all of them familiar. Someone hadn’t shut the door completely. For a moment, Satoshi paused, feeling that same ‘I can’t go in there’ dread he’d felt – the reason he’d left, after all – and then Aiba laughed.

Satoshi froze and listened closer. This… good-natured arguing, about something they’d probably already forgotten, this he’d missed. Grinning, he slipped in, shed his jacket, and moved quietly closer.

“I still can’t believe you said that,” Nino said.

On the table, Satoshi caught sight of an article reviewing something Sho had said – something he’d just read, in fact – that seemed just so… Sho. “I can,” he opined, and they went still.

For maybe half a second.

Aiba moved first. “Oh-chan!” he yelled, and launched himself at Satoshi, nearly bowling them both over in a full-body hug.

“Hey, Aiba-chan,” Satoshi replied into the taller man’s chest, amused.

“Hey? That’s all?” Nino demanded. “Let go, Aiba!”

In the end, they sat him down on the couch and plied him with questions: when did he come back? How long? Would he stay? Did he feel better? And on and on until the manager stepped in.

“I see you let them know you were back,” he said.

Satoshi looked up, his fingers tangled in MatsuJun’s hair (their youngest member had immediately laid his head in Satoshi’s lap, and practically purred between asking his own questions). “Yes. They seem… okay with the idea.”

Sho reached over – perched on the arm of the couch, with Nino between him and Satoshi – and flicked his ear. “Okay with the idea?” he asked when Satoshi flinched and glared at him. “We’re much more than okay. We’re quite contented.”

Aiba rolled his eyes.

“Is he coming this afternoon?” Nino asked before Aiba could say anything.

“That’s up to him. We can call and let them know he’s coming, or he can join you tomorrow.”

The resultant queries made him laugh. “No,” he said finally. “I’m still jet logged. I’ll get the schedule starting from tomorrow, and join you then.”

“Fine,” the manager said, breaking through all the protests. “It’s time for the rest of you to get ready.”

Reluctantly, Jun sat up, and they all got to their feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Satoshi said, and went to get his coat.

Leaving without them was harder than he’d thought it would be.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion, and a union. Of sorts.

It took nearly two weeks before Arashi was a unit again; considering it had taken six months to break them, it wasn’t bad.

It took considerably less than that – three days, by his count – for Satoshi to realize that Jun actually courted him. The younger man was subtle, certainly, but Satoshi had learned to be observant, had learned to sketch his day out, and since their schedule hadn’t become exhausting yet, he had the chance to look over what he’d drawn.

It surprised him, a little, only… not really. His main concern, though, he’d expressed to himself when the others had found him in Colorado Springs. He didn’t know how much of Jun’s daily handling was real.

So he observed, studied, tried to notice what was different, but the younger man was very good at what he did. Still, Satoshi’s observations began to pay off. And, as a side effect, found himself more attracted to him. And Jun, being Jun, certainly noticed.

One afternoon, six weeks after Satoshi had returned, Jun invited him over. The two of them just hung out, relaxing, talking, music (not theirs) playing quietly in the background. They ordered dinner in, playfully fighting over dishes and the best parts of them.

It had gotten dark when Satoshi regretfully informed Jun that he had to go home.

“Are you sure?” Jun asked, straightening, the same regret in his own expression.

Satoshi got to his feet. “I am. We have a busy day tomorrow.” He didn’t add that Jun’s was likely to be worse than his own.

Jun stood as well, hands rubbing on his jeans nervously. “ Thanks for coming.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Satoshi said into the silence, before it became uncomfortable. He turned and walked toward the front door. In the small hallway leading to it, long fingers wrapped around his wrist – the same wrist – again and tugged him around before letting go.

“Oh-chan,” Jun murmured. “Don’t go.”

Satoshi met his gaze without flinching. He had the feeling that this invitation – if he could call it that – this plea covered more than just this night.

He didn’t know if that were the truth, or just hope talking, but he wanted to find out.

“What exactly do you want?” Satoshi asked quietly.

Jun regarded him for a moment, but Satoshi waited patiently for his answer. “What I want,” Jun said finally, in the same tone, “is to hear you say my name, in that incredible voice.” He stepped closer – not touching – eyes intense, a half-smile teasing his lips. “I want to touch you, make you mine – and for you to make me yours.”

Satoshi stared into that intense gaze, and wondered if he blushed or if it burned him.

“But what I want most,” Jun said, growing serious, speaking even softer, “is to never see that look on your face again, the one you had in Colorado Springs, when the anger left and all I saw was desolation and….” He swallowed. “I never want to see you look like that again.”

Satoshi nodded and had to look away from the intensity in his eyes. He’d begun, recently, to know when Jun acted, even in his personal life, and if he had, he wasn’t now. He didn’t always get it right, but he thought, this time, he might have. “What else?”

Jun smiled. “Well… most of my other goals have to do with my career, acting, stuff like that.” He dismissed those with a flick of his fingers.

Satoshi reached out to capture that hand, investigating it with the intensity he usually used for something he wanted to draw. “Would…” he started, shook his head, and tried again. “Is there room in those goals for me? And for mine?”

Jun stilled, and when Satoshi looked up, he met a wide-eyed, startled gaze, and suddenly he remembered that Jun was four years younger than he. “I… never thought…” Jun stammered. “There can be. Yes.”

Satoshi pulled the younger man closer. “Then,” he said, whispering into Jun’s ear, “maybe I won’t go.”

He barely had a chance to take a breath before Jun kissed him again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it all works out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> « » indicates that Satoshi (and the others) are speaking English (which is the only time in this fic it indicates English).

His showing – his, nothing to do with Johnny’s – was a success. In spite of critics claims, much of what he meant to sell had sold well in a very short time.

A hand briefly touched the small of his back, and he glanced up at Jun with a smile as the actor handed him a cup of water. “How are you holding up?”

Satoshi laughed softly. “You sound like I’m an invalid,” he murmured with a smile.

“You made yourself sick,” Jun murmured back, grinning. “Feeling better yet?”

“A little.”

“Satoshi!”

The yell silenced the room, and then a few people began to murmur angrily. Satoshi merely grinned and turned toward the voice.

Angela and Jonathan strode toward him, grinning widely, and he moved to meet them. «Angela, Jonathan! I’m glad you could make it, » he greeted them warmly, and leaned into Angela’s hug. «I’ve missed you.»

«I’m stationed here, now,» Jonathan said as Satoshi shook his hand firmly, glancing toward the child in his arms.

Angela caught the look and smiled. «Yes, we’re three now,» she confirmed. «Her name is Sandy.»

Satoshi grinned at her. «Congratulations,» he said. «She’s beautiful.» He glanced behind him and smiled as Jun stopped next to him. «Angela, Jonathan, may I introduce Matsumoto Jun.» He turned to the younger man. “This is Angela and Jonathan, my neighbors in Colorado Springs.”

Jun grinned. “You were at their wedding when we….”

“Broke in. Yes.”

Jun laughed and bowed to them. «It’s nice to meet you,» he said in stilted English, and shook their hands.

«You’ve gotten better,” Angela said, glancing at one of his sold items, a colored picture of the mountains outside his window, the roof of her house just above the frame. «I think these are… better.»

«Happier,» Satoshi agreed.

«I’m glad,» Jonathan said.

Satoshi began to lead them further into the exhibit. «I have one I want you to see,» he said. They followed him to one of the largest paintings, one that he’d gotten quite a few offers for, but he did not intend to sell it. There they were: Jonathan, Rick, Mike, Eric, Steve, and David, in uniform, an American flag waving over Angela and Christen and a home that looked like the one he’d stayed in. The title stood proudly below: “For family, friends, and freedom.”

Angela stared at it.

«It’s perfect,» Jonathan said in a soft voice.

«I needed… something,» Satoshi said quietly, uncomfortable. «Something to show how much you all did for me.»

Angela turned to smile at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. «It’s perfect,» she said, echoing what her husband had said.

By the end of the show, Satoshi wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. But he had to wrap everything up, finish paperwork finalizing sales… but finally, finally, he got home, shed shoes and coat at the door, shed shirt and pants once in the bedroom, and crawled into bed without even looking for pajamas. Jun turned and wrapped an arm around him.

“Everything done?” he murmured sleepily.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Jun said, and Satoshi snuggled into him and sighed, contented, as he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
